"It is a weary time since any of my blood, but thee, have stood in my sight. Kneel, that I may bless thee."
Jacopo, who had risen under his mental torture, obeyed, and bowed his head in reverence to receive the paternal benediction. The lips of the old man moved, and his eyes were turned to Heaven, but his language was of the heart, rather than that of the tongue. Gelsomina bent her head to her bosom, and seemed to unite her prayers to those of the prisoner. When the silent but solemn ceremony was ended, each made the customary sign of the cross, and Jacopo kissed the wrinkled hand of the captive.
"Hast thou hope for me?" the old man asked, this pious and grateful duty done. "Do they still promise to let me look upon the sun again?"
"They do. They promise fair."
"Would that their words were true! I have lived on hope for a weary time—I have now been within these walls more than four years, methinks."
Jacopo did not answer, for he knew that his father named the period only that he himself had been permitted to see him.
"I built upon the expectation that the Doge would remember his ancient servant, and open my prison-doors."
Still Jacopo was silent, for the Doge, of whom the other spoke, had long been dead.
"And yet I should be grateful, for Maria and the saints have not forgotten me. I am not without my pleasures in captivity."
"God be praised!" returned the Bravo. "In what manner dost thou ease thy sorrows, father?"